We’re The Only Ones Who Know | Haris & Lucy
harisnoureddine
Having lived for such a short period of time with a man she barely knew, yet called her husband, excusing herself out of the brick house with the short explanation –– or excuse –– that she was going to meet up with a co-worker for dinner at the Victorian Tea Room on the Pier, in case he’d like to join in. She knew her husband very little, but she did know he would not go. Which was good, it worked wonders, even when she managed to miss his presence ten seconds after walking out of the house. Lucy knew how to drive, but decided against it each time the opportunity came to her, for it scared her more than anything else in life. More than horror movies, more than serial killers, more than being abused. This time, with the bus schedule tattooed on her brain as it was her main way of transportation, not to mention how much room she actually had to dance a little bit while she go to her destination, was no exception, and sooner than later she found herself inside the blue bus, holding onto a pole as her hips rocked from side to side, entertaining whoever was behind her, probably. Her purse, however, was heavier than usual. What felt like an eternity away, when she attended University in London, Lucy had been taught the British Sign Language, BSL for short, and she had practically mastered it, all thanks to the book that weighted about three stone in her purse. Once she was out of the bus and after she had let go of her skirt to keep it from blowing in the most embarrassing Marilyn Monroe like scene, but without the iconic ventilation system. Thankfully, she was still on time, so she didn’t have to hurry over to the restaurant. Once she arrived, it was not too hard to spot Haris. He was the literal, textbook definition of tall, dark and handsome. She approached him, waving hello as she walked with a big grin. “Do you want to sit here, or.....” she signed, painfully slow. When she had said she was rusty with it, she hadn’t been joking. ‘..Or would you prefer to sit outside?’ was what she wanted to say, but dear God, she could not remember how to do it without messing up. “....maybe outside?” She finished her sentence with fewer signs, supposing her point would remain the same.
